


The Art of Standing

by eadunne2



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Consent, Control Issues, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Mania, Multi, Spanking, Steve is a sweetie, Voyeurism, bdsm club, fuckton of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky have perfect chemistry from their very first scene, and it leaves them both wanting more. But they've both learned the dangers of wanting, and for people that practice good communication so regularly, they kind of suck at it.</p><p>So they'll fuck and tease and talk dirty and even dance. They just can't kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I didn't want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there's a lot of difference.” –Ernest Hemingway

 

\--

 

The first time they work together is on a stage at the club, which isn’t the smartest idea but apparently they both owe Sam a favor and this was his payback request. 

They do a run down beforehand, though. They’re professionals after all.

“Hard limits?” Steve murmurs, finding the correct notch for the buckle of his leather cuffs and pulling the strap through. 

“No lasting marks, no blood, no watersports or scat. Go easy on the breath play.” James doesn’t look at all perturbed in stripping down and pulling on the silk panties left for him. His hair falls across his face and Steve ignores the way his cock twitches in his jeans. Ok. Maybe not ignores, but puts it aside for now and focuses on the important stuff.

“Oh. And go easy on the arm,” James adds, looking like he truly wishes he didn’t have to say anything. 

“What do you like?” is Steve’s next question, and James twitches in surprise. Hopes Steve doesn’t notice. 

He does of course 

“You’re not used to that question?”

“No, I am I just…wasn’t expecting it…”

“From me?” Steve finishes, sounding a little peeved.

James doesn’t know how to answer honestly without offending him further, so he doesn’t, just turns back to the mirror. His eyes have already been rimmed with dark liner so he just swipes on some tinted, glossy chapstick and picks up the collar.

On a whim, he turns around and offers it to Steve. “Care to do the honors?”

Steve glances up from where he’s tying up his boots and James thinks maybe he looks a little surprised too, but he accepts the strip of leather with a smile.

He turns the kid so they’re facing the mirror, a hand on his shoulder and hand on his hip, and James shivers. Steve is a little rough, and it’s wonderful already. James’s eyes slide shut and goose bumps race over his arms as Steve loops the collar around his neck and checks the tightness with a finger. It feels like coming home.

Steve’s voice is lower than before as he catches James’s eyes flutter open in the mirror and he wraps a hand under James’s good arm and up to his neck, thumb and forefinger circling it like a second collar.

“Tell me your color, baby.” It’s a command and already James is letting go of his nervousness and stress from the day.

“Green,” he says sweetly, then adds with a little more bite, “Daddy.”

Steve hisses through his teeth and James feels it on his neck and then through his whole body as he says, “Good. Very good, James.”

\--

Turns out, Steve is kind of famous. 

Not like, famous famous, but still well-known enough that Bucky, as well as tonight’s audience, all had to sign non-disclosure agreements. Bucky supposes if you’re a high-powered entrepreneur it might not be great for business if it got out that you’re also into gay fetish stuff. Probably. 

Bucky has subbed for all kind of Doms, some good, some bad, and all with different preferences. He has his preferences too, of course, but as long as no one crosses his boundaries he finds he can achieve the headspace he’s looking for simply by obeying. 

Tonight is a little different.

As in, he’s not having to try very hard at all. 

Despite not having answered Steve’s question about preferences, Steve is somehow finding quite a few of them. He orders Bucky to his knees the second they step onto the stage but tosses a pillow beneath him beforehand, and Bucky sighs gratefully at the feel of fabric when he’d expected rough wood. 

He flicks his eyes up to Steve demurely. He’d like to say thank you, but he let’s Steve lead, Steve, who eases down in a chair and points to his feet. 

Bucky bows his head and crawls forward until his face is just inches from Steve’s crotch and he’s settled prettily in front of him, hands on thighs. Steve winds his fingers through Bucky’s hair and tugs his head to one side, gently at first, then more roughly to the other and Bucky has to bite his lip because he doesn’t have permission to make noise and he _loves_ having his hair pulled. 

When Steve presses two fingers into his mouth though, he can’t help but whimper a little, and he thinks he’s been half hard since he walked on stage.

He hears the murmurs of the crowd behind him and arches his back a little harder.

Spit-slick fingers slide along his lips before fucking back into his mouth. “Putting on a show for them, huh? Good boy.” Steve’s voice is soothing, and Bucky preens under it, allowing himself to relax the rest of the way, to shake the nerves off and prepare himself to slide under. 

“Look at you,” Steve breathes, and Bucky looks up to awed blue eyes. “Letting me have all of you. You trust me, James? You can answer me.”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’s asking, Steve’s got the control here, and Bucky gets the sense that Steve would be upset if he said no, but there’s no need to lie because despite only having known him for a few hours, he does.

“Yes, sir,” he answers quietly.

Steve let’s out a breath Bucky hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “So fuckin’ good.”

\--

He’s amazing, this kid. Looks like he stepped out of a dream, scarred and tatted arm included. He’s got these huge grey eyes and long limbs and soft muscles and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever wanted a mouth on his cock as badly as he wants this kid's mouth on his cock.

And James is eyeing him like he wants Steve’s cock in his mouth, so Steve leans forward and says, “Bein’ so good in front of all these people. Might even get a reward. Would you like that?”

Smiling up at him like an angel with bruised knees, James nods and nuzzles forward along the inseam of his jeans. 

“You want my cock, James?” The nod this time is more fervent. 

“You get my cock, but I get something, too.”

He twists out of the chair and grabs the crop hanging on the toy rack, then watches James’s face as he turns back. There’s definite arousal there, but a hint of nerves too, and Steve catches him glancing down at his arm, covered quite visibly in tattoos and less visibly in scars.

Steve fists James’s hair again, holding him still, going for dominant but steady, and leans in so no one else can hear them. “I won’t even get close to your arms. Legs only ok?”

He can see the kid processing, eyes widening in gratitude, and Steve finds he wants to punch whatever douchebag made James feel like he couldn’t ask for things, especially his own safety. The kid finally nods and they slip back into their roles seamlessly.

Loud enough for the crowd, Steve says, “Well, get to it,” but as James raises his hands Steve cracks the crop against the stage, getting his attention. “Mouth only,” he says with a grin, and leans back into the chair.

\--

Bucky’s still reeling from Steve noticing his worry, but it only intensifies his desire to be good, be exactly what Steve needs, and he licks his lips with intention before he mouths over the line of Steve’s cock through his jeans. Bucky doesn’t miss the way Steve’s breath catches, and that little noise alone has him hardening even more against the black silk.

Even if Steve is holding out fine, as he seems to be, Bucky can only tease him for so long before the _need_ sets in, the need to taste him, feel him hard and heavy on his tongue. 

He’s holding out, too, for the snap of the crop against his skin. Loves the thought of the sting and oddly enough, loves the thought of bearing a mark from Steve for the week to come. Wishes for a cane. He knows Steve is trying to ease him in. Bucky wants to be overtaken.

He finally manages to undo his jeans with his teeth and peel the zipper back. People in the audience cheer and whistle, and Bucky thinks he’d like to whistle for Steve right along with them. He’s exquisitely muscled and tan and Bucky wants to taste every inch of him.

Steve’s cock is fairly hard already, but Bucky wants him fucking _gone_ on him, so he licks up and down the fabric, wetting it completely, and only occasionally flicking his tongue against the head where it peeks out of the waistband. 

For a minute, he wonders if he’s getting anywhere, but then the crop cracks against his legs and Steve says, “No one likes a tease, baby.”

Bucky leans into the sting before blinking up at Steve from under his lashes and murmurs too quietly for the audience to hear. He’d never embarrass Steve like that, talking without permission, but he does whisper, “Then what’re you doin’ to me, Daddy?”

\--

This kid is going to be the fucking death of him. 

He rips Steve’s jeans open with his teeth and gets to work soaking Steve’s cock through his underwear. People in the audience cheer for him. Steve’s a breath away from joining them.

The occasional kitten licks to his head where it rests above the elastic are driving him crazy, mostly because he wants that mouth on him, like yesterday, and it isn’t yet. He sees the kid squirming, practically begging for a whipping, and he gives him one good smack before he leans over to tell him he’s being a tease, and the kid, god help him, whispers back. _”Daddy.”_

But it was just for him. Just for Steve. This kid is so good he's playing with Steve _and_ the audience, and it’s working on both counts. But Steve’s job is to take care of James, and he intends to do it, so he stands up, hears the audience crow, and tells James, “Open your mouth.”

Steve can see the flutter of James’s pulse beat a little faster at that, and he shoves his pants down with his free hand. James obeys immediately, dropping those slick red lips apart and leaning in a little.

Jesus Christ, Steve thinks. The kid’s fuckin’ desperate for it.

When he pulls his cock free, he sees James smile a little. 

“Tongue out,” he commands, and of course, like the angel he is, James does it. 

Steve slaps his cock against his velvety tongue before pushing in, wondering how far he can go. He likes a little choking as much as the next guy, but doesn’t enjoy vomiting and makes sure to never take it that far. 

It’s not an issue. James swallows him all the way to the hilt, taking little whimpering breaths through his nose. “Fuck,” Steve growls, and blinks down proudly. “That’s it baby. Suck me. Oooh.” 

James goes at it like he was born to suck cock, but he’s pleading with his eyes about something, and Steve pulls off to ask. 

“What do you want? Answer me.”

“Fuck my face, Daddy, please.” 

The crowd hears and reacts immediately, murmurs getting louder, but Steve can barely hear them over the roaring in his ears.

\--

He’s never been asked what he wants so many times in one scene. If they were boyfriends, or if they played together, Bucky would tell him he likes being bossed around, whipped into shape. Used. 

But because they’re new to each other, and in public, the little check ins not only make him feel more comfortable, but are also getting him painfully turned on.

When he asks Steve to fuck his face and Steve does it like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing, Bucky almost blacks out from pleasure. Steve’s huge, but he can take him, loves the feel of his hands in Bucky’s hair and his cock in Bucky’s mouth. It’s incredible. 

Bucky glances up at the clock. Each couple is asked for twenty to thirty minutes, and they don’t have a ton of time left, but even if he doesn’t get to come onstage tonight, Bucky knows he will be jacking off about this for weeks to come. 

He owes Sam. Big time. 

He feels Steve getting more tense, but at the last minute, Steve pulls out and says, “Your turn.”

Bucky barely has time to register what’s happening before he’s being hauled into Steve’s lap, and he doesn’t know where it came from but a blow from a cane lands on his ass.

He whimpers and grinds forward into Steve’s jeans. “You get ten. You’ll count for me, and you’ll come on ten. Got it?”

Bucky nods. “Answer me!” Steve growls and tilts Bucky so he can see his face. “Yes sir, please sir, oh god.” He’s babbling, but Steve seems pleased, and then there’s another crack and Bucky mewls, “One.”

Another, on the other side. “Two.” 

They come down in different places each time, as promised only on his legs and ass. The sting lights a fire in Bucky’s stomach, and where most nights he’d be worried about being able to come untouched, tonight he was worried about coming early. Steve’s gruff voice and large hands smooth over him between blows, telling him how good he is, how beautiful, and Bucky believes him.

By eight he’s squirming and he knows there are tears on his face. “Nine,” is a breathy scream.

And ten? He’s not quite sure.

\--

“He’s incredible,” Sam had said. “You should see him with Natasha. Amazing.”

Steve believed it the whole time, but he wasn’t sure if it was fair to ask the kid to come from caning alone. To ask him to come untouched at all.

Blowing Steve’s mind seemed to be the theme of the night though, and James had done it, not only taking the blows, but counting, all the while giving him these gorgeous little whimpers and screams, but never talking except for the numbers, so good, so obedient.

And then he came so hard that he froze, and Steve picked him up and carried him off stage. They were at their time limit, and he couldn’t think of a better end to a performance than a beautiful young man coming loud and hard in his lap. 

The kid comes to as Steve kicks closed the door of the dressing room and lays him on the couch. 

Steve grabs water and a granola bar from his bag and kneels down next to him. 

“Hey,” he says gently.

“What happened?” James says blearily, and Steve can’t help but smile and brush his hair out of his face. 

“You were incredible is what happened. And now I need you to eat this for me, ok? Can you do that?”

“Don’t have to babysit me,” James mumbles, looking grumpy and beautiful, but he takes the food, and Steve just laughs. 

“I’m not. Now eat.”

James obeys the command, of course, because he’s wonderful, and after handing him the water as well Steve goes on a hunt through his bag for some lotion. By the time he gets back, the kid has finished the food and water and is sitting up somewhat more brightly. 

“Here,” Steve says. “Let me put this on you.” James raises an eyebrow. Maybe he’s done being dominated for the night. “Please?” Steve amends. 

James just smiles sweetly and rolls over. 

Show off, Steve thinks

The welts don’t look too bad. He was trying to be careful, but James kept leaning into it like it was all he wanted in the world, and some of the marks would stick around for a few days, he knew.

“You were incredible out there, James. Fuckin’ phenomenal.”

James makes a strange little sound into the couch cushion and says, “Steve. You don’t have to…” He waves absently with a hand before finishing, “Do all that. All this. I’m…fine. And you’re…I mean, you were wonderful, too.” He’s blushing a little. It looks lovely on him. And he’s talking to Steve now, instead of the couch cushion, which is a good sign. 

“I’m not doing anything because I have to, James,” he says, and begins applying the lotion to his legs.

Running his hands over James’s beautiful backside, Steve is reminded that he hasn’t gotten off yet this evening, and he is painfully hard. He breathes through it though, and thinks about how he’ll wait until he gets home, or until the kid leaves. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’d gotten off in this dressing room. 

He realizes James is watching him.

“What?” he asks, surprised by how shy he sounds. 

“You really were great. You made me feel safe.”

“Good.” Steve’s genuinely gratified. “I hope I made you feel more than just safe, but that’s definitely where it has to start.” 

James nods and stretches a little, arching his spine as Steve finishes rubbing the lotion in, and Steve doesn’t quite muffle his moan in time.

\--

Holy shit. Did Steve fucking Rogers just moan at him?

Oh yes.

He’s sore and tired and floaty, and Bucky has never wanted to be fucked so badly in his life.

“Steve?” he asks, trying for an innocent tone of voice.

“Hmm?” Steve murmurs, tucking his crap back into his bag. His back is turned but Bucky can see him blush in the mirror. 

“You didn’t get off,” he observes. “I could help you with that.”

“It’s ok, James,” Steve says quickly. “You gave me more than I could have asked for tonight.” He means it, too. Who the fuck is this guy? Saint Rogers?

“I’m not being nice, Steve,” Bucky says clearly. “I’d like you to fuck me.” Oh man, would he ever.

Steve still looks unsure though, so Bucky pulls out the big guns. 

He rolls onto his back, and runs his hands down his chest to his cock, hardening again already, and says in his sweetest voice, “Please, Daddy? Please fuck me?”

Steve fucking growls.

He’s on Bucky in an instant, a bottle of lube from his bag in hand, and is working Bucky open with thick fingers.

His mouth wanders everywhere, teeth on Bucky’s nipples, tongue tracing patterns across Bucky’s abs, sweet kisses to his neck, so different from the calloused finger sliding into him. 

Bucky wants another finger, and he says as much.

\--

For real though, this kid is going to kill him. Steve is going to have a heart attack at his sheer perfection and give up the ghost. 

He can’t kiss him, can’t possibly, but he wants to taste him, and does so. The whole time, Bucky is writhing under him, whimpering, begging, and Steve only just gets the third finger in when he is demanding to be fucked.

Steve smiles fondly. “Brat,” he pants, but lines himself up and James’s sarcastic comeback is swallowed by a throaty moan. 

“Yes, yes, please yes, oh fuck me.” 

He’s terribly vocal when he’s turned on, which happens to be one of Steve’s favorite things. He takes a few minutes to make sure he won’t hurt the kid, but then he hits James’s prostate, James rakes his nails down Steve’s back, and he loses control of himself, trusting the color system to keep them safe and happy.

He pounds into James, who is too tight and hot and slick and Steve’s been hard for so long that he thinks he might just black out before he comes, but he wants James to come again, wants to see it, watch his face this time, so he lubes up a hand and curls it around James’s dick. 

And James, because he’s perfect, fucking screams and comes so hard it hits his chin. 

“Thank god,” Steve moans, and follows him over the edge. 

When he comes to, his forehead is pressed into James’s neck, and James is reaching behind him to grab his cell. 

“Shit,” he murmurs. 

“You ok?” Steve asks, and James chuckles. Steve feels a pressure on the top of his head, like maybe James had kissed his hair, but he has to be imagining things.

“Am I ok? Steve, I just had two incredible orgasms in less than an hour. I’m fantastic. I’m over the moon. I’m- oh. I’m late.”

Steve sits up.

“Fuck. Am I keeping you?”

James shakes his head. “No, nothing like that, I just…You know Natasha?”

Steve nods. A fellow Dom. 

“She’s my roommate, and she’s kinda…mother-y, I guess. We try’n be home by midnight most nights, and if we won’t be we check in. And I…” his voice trails as he types a response. “Didn’t check in. Well. Now I did. Anyway.”

He yawns, looking unfairly adorable and hands Steve his phone, saying, “Put your number in.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order, and Steve smiles. Orders do take the guess work out of things. 

By the time he’s done finding the contacts and adding his number, James is dressed in skinny jeans and sweater and Steve wants to scoop him up, but resists the urge. 

They weren’t even real partners. Just doing a job. It wasn’t like they’d work together again. Right? He startles when his phone goes off. The text says: Bucky, and it’s from an unknown number, but James has just flipped his phone closed with a smile.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. 

James nods, pausing at the door. “Its…what my friends call me.” Then quieter, he adds, “Good night, Steve.”

The door is closed by the time Steve gets the words out, but they do happen, eventually.

“Sweet dreams, Bucky.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, BDSM as a plot device, not as a tutorial. But oh man, hurt/comfort is my jam.

“Well?” A lightweight body rolls over the blanket, pinning Bucky down. He rubs his face in the pillow, satisfied at the pressure, and almost falls back asleep.

_Well?_

“Natasha…” He tries to sound warning, but she could kick his ass and they both know it.

She gets up and returns with a ceramic clink on his bedside table -

“Coffee.”

“Oh, thanks Nat.”

\- and rips his covers off.

“Jesus Christ, woman!” he yelps, and promptly surrenders, sitting up and sipping angrily at his coffee. He glares at her and she smiles sweetly until he’s downed half the mug, then tries again.

“Well? How was he?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer right away, but he knows he’s smiling, and when he shifts a little he can feel the tenderness on his legs and ass, and even better, he _aches_ in a way he hasn’t for awhile.

He thinks for a moment of the way Steve felt in his mouth, fingers tight in his hair. He thinks of the look and Steve’s face as he’d worked Bucky open, awed and wrecked and gorgeous. He thinks of Steve’s goodbye. The door had been closed but Bucky had paused outside, half hoping Steve would come after him, and he’d heard it.

_”Sweet dreams.”_

But most importantly, he feels lighter, weightless and grounded simultaneously, and Natasha, incredible Dom that she is, notices.

“It went well,” she observes, and he nods, still immersed in coffee and thoughts of last night. “I had hoped.”

That shakes him awake. “Hoped?”

“Sam and I talk about good pairings from time to time. You and Steve have come up on a number of occasions, and when he needed someone for the show last night it just seemed too perfect. I’m glad it worked out.”

“You could say that,” Bucky snorts. “What was his favor? Whatever Sam was cashing in on?”

Natasha is not a particularly expressive person, but Bucky sees something cross her face, too quickly to discern, before she says, “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

“Yeah,” Bucky snarks. “Next time we run into each other."

“Why not? You obviously had fun, I can only assume he did too, you’re a delightful sub to work with - ”

“Gee, thanks.”

“ – Why not see each other again?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and pokes her off the end of the bed so he can get ready for work, but much to his dismay, her question does not leave when she does.

Why not see each other again?

\--

He wants to kiss Bucky.

Wishes he’d kissed him.

They weren’t dating, or even partners though, and for Steve at least, kissing was a particularly intimate activity.

“More intimate than your dick down some guy’s throat?” Sam had asked.

Steve had rolled his eyes, but…yeah. Yeah it was.

Steve hasn’t kissed anyone in years, not since...well. Best not to think about that.

But it’s fine, totally fine.

He’s fine.

It’s stupid and pointless, but he does it anyway, thinks back to the night before and how James’s lips had looked stretched around his cock, the arch of his back, the noises he’d made as Steve drove into him…

Not James. Bucky.

And Steve is beyond flattered that Bucky decided, for whatever reason, to give him his name, his real name. What a sweet kid he is, behind that bravado. He’d said Steve made him feel comfortable. Safe.

Steve, on the other hand, had been left feeling out of his element, totally and completely, and in the best way.

\--

Bucky doesn’t think he could ever be a full-time sub.

He likes his independence and likes sceneing to be an escape, not a routine, but if he goes too long without, he starts to feel a little crazy. A little restless. The memories threaten to choke him, and he needs something more tangible in his throat than a bottled up scream.

Something good. He needs to be good. Be useful.

He needs to be put in his place.

There are more than a few men who would be glad to help, but the problem is that post-Steve, he doesn’t really want anyone else to touch him. It’s a mental thing, of course. There’s nothing wrong with the other guys. He could get off for them. They’re the same approachable, domineering, bros they’ve always been.

It’s just now, Bucky knows better.

He lasts a week before waking up so hard he thinks he might cry, and spends the next ten minutes jacking off furiously to the image of Steve above him, in him, telling him he’s so fucking pretty, so fucking good.

He comes so hard he passes back out, and strangely, the nightmares aren’t quite so persistent.

Inconvenient hard-ons aside, though, he knows he’s slipping. He’ll catch himself having tensed every muscle in his body for minutes at a time, sitting at the kitchen table, his desk. He forgets to eat for a day and a half before Natasha figures it out. Looks torn between slapping him and cooking for him. (She does both, eventually.)

He’s spent enough time in therapy to keep from regressing too far, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy.

A week later, Natasha presses his phone into his hand.

“I’m going out. I won’t be back until tomorrow night. Call Steve.”

The sentences are short and concise, like Nat knows he can’t focus very well through the fog.

He tries to argue, but words aren’t quite stringing together lately, and besides, she’s gone by the time he gets his mouth open.

He stares at the phone in his hand for over an hour. It’s ridiculous, he reasons. He’s fine, he’s old enough to take care of himself. He survived a goddamn real life nightmare for fuck’s sake. A couple of 'em. 

Besides, Steve has a job, a life, outside the scene. He might even have a partner. It’s not realistic for Bucky to think he’d come running to rescue some random kid he’d met once in a club.

But…

Sweet dreams?

In the end, his thumb dials for him and Steve says “Hello?” three times before Bucky can get anything out.

“H-Hey.”

“Bucky, how are you?” Steve sounds genuinely excited to hear from him, which is sweet and weird at the same time.

“I’m ok. You?”

There’s a silence and when Steve speaks again he sounds much more serious.

“What’s wrong?”

Fuck. He must be way further gone than he’d thought if Steve can tell by his voice. This was a bad idea. He should hang up.

“It’s nothing, Steve. I’m fine, I’m…sorry.”

Steve’s voice settles into Dom tone as he says, “Don’t apologize to me. Tell me what you need.”

If it hadn’t been a command, he wouldn’t have answered. “You.” Barely a whisper, but as soon as it’s out Bucky hears a quick exhale and then the rustling of paper, the jingling of keys.

“I need you to hang up and text me your address. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Bucky says.

“If you need me before I get there you will call me, understood?”

“Ok.” He feels stupid, stupid, stupid, but also so happy his chest might explode.

“And Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for calling me.”

The line goes dead and Bucky only barely remembers to text the address. When it’s done, he glances around the room and realizes he hasn’t cleaned in over a week. Thankfully Natasha had shoved him into the shower that morning, but there are books and clothes strewn everywhere and dishes in the sink.

He darts around, straightening and organizing and throwing things into their respective containers, and it ends up being a blessing because he doesn’t even have time to be anxious before Steve is rapping on the door, which Bucky promptly throws open.

\--

In the car on the way over, Steve chews the inside of his cheek raw.

He’s torn between gratitude that Bucky had called, that he didn’t have to be the one to make the first move, and nervousness.

He remembers the way Bucky sounded at the club clearly, couldn’t forget it if he tried. Remembers the gentle scrape of his voice while they chatted in the dressing room, low and sweet and warm. Tonight, Bucky’s voice sounded terrified. An inch from cracking.

Steve knows him to be strong, not just because he’s seen the kid take a wicked beating and a huge cock, but also because of his arm. Tattoo-covered scars. Looked like burns. War, maybe. Steve knows about that kind of damage, and he knows Bucky survived.

Bucky’s proud, too, and guarded. He’d almost refused to let Steve put lotion on his welts, and that was standard aftercare. Steve wonders if he’s just had shitty Doms too often to expect decent treatment, or if he sincerely doesn’t think he needs the care. Deserves it.

So he’s worried, but Steve’s heart is fucking _soaring_ that Bucky called him.

\--

Steve’s standing in the doorway, and Bucky’s jaw drops open.

He’s wearing a suit. An honest-to-god, pressed, black suit and a blue tie. His shoulders taper so beautifully to his waist, Bucky knows, and the suit accentuates the slimness of his hips, the strength in his chest. Bucky thinks he might be drooling.

For a moment, he just ogles, impolite though it may be, then steps back to allow Steve to enter.

“Bucky?” The question is layered, amusement on the top, probably at Bucky’s dumbfounded expression, but underneath there are darker notes, worry, maybe, or fear. “How are you?”

Bucky ducks his head. It’s the second time Steve’s asked him that question, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to tell the lie he wants to.

“I’m…” He can’t. Can’t explain and can’t lie. What does he say? Should he ask Steve to leave?

He looks up, desperate, and watches something shift in Steve’s expression. Understanding maybe? Steve steps forward and puts a hand on Bucky’s neck, thumb resting in the hollow of his throat, and examines him for a moment.

Bucky tries to hold still under the scrutiny and the fingers at his throat help. Steve’s eyes sweep over his face, then down his body. There’s heat there, and Bucky’s chest swells. But then - anger.

“You’ve lost weight.”

It’s not a question, so Bucky doesn’t answer. He’s too busy wondering how closely Steve must’ve studied his body the night of the show to have even noticed the change.

“Why?”

Shit, that’s a question.

“Haven’t been eating much lately.” Bucky’s voice is airy. Hesitant.

“Why?”

This time he tries to answer with a shrug, but Steve makes a low growling sound in his chest and curls his fingers a little tighter, so Bucky tries again.

“Bad week.”

Steve’s hand loosens and sweeps up to run through his hair. A reward for having answered. “Thank you for telling me. Can you talk about it?”

Bucky feels his eyes widen in fear. Hears the blood begin to surge in his ears, sees the white begin to fill his gaze and then clearly, like a life preserver, hears Steve’s velvet voice say, “On your knees.”

\--

Steve’s seeing red. He’s trying to regulate his breathing, to keep himself from scaring Bucky, but he’s not sure it’s working.

The kid is skinnier than he was before, the dips behind his collarbone a little deeper, the blades of his cheekbones a little sharper. He’s still laced with muscle, but the lines stand out more harshly than they did a week ago. Not eating. Goddamn it.

There are dark circles under his eyes as well, and a few days of stubble on his cheeks. He’s not taking care of himself at all.

But Bucky is a good kid, a good man, he’d try to take care of himself if he could. Which meant that for whatever reason, he couldn’t.

It makes Steve’s skin feel too tight. The need to take care of him sweeps through his body with such fierceness that it takes his breath away, but when he asks about the problem and sees Bucky start to go under, he gets to work. 

He tugs his jacket off and folds it into a sloppy square, dropping it where Bucky will fall, and orders, “On your knees.”

Bucky crumples with surprising grace. It takes him a moment, but he straightens his posture, bows his head, and places his hands on his thighs.

“Wonderful,” Steve says. “Very good, Bucky.”

\--

It’s like a switch has been flipped. Bucky finds himself on his knees, head clearing, breath coming easy and full in and out of his lungs. He sits up and fixes his posture. A weight feels lifted.

His knees are comfortable, more than he thinks the hallway runner should be, and when he realizes Steve’s suit jacket is under his knees he tries to scoot backwards. It’s folded, so Steve must’ve put it there, but he can’t possibly…

“Did I give you permission to move?” Steve says, and Bucky freezes. He shakes his head. “I put it there on purpose.”

Bucky opens his mouth then closes it again. He doesn’t have permission to speak, and his chest is too full of warmth anyway.

Steve is walking around behind him, but Bucky keeps his head bowed, waiting, listening. The rustle of fabric, Steve kneeling, then, “Arms up.”

Bucky obeys and shivers when Steve’s fingers brush his sides as he pulls his shirt off. Warm hands brush down his ribs and sweep up his back, across his shoulders, up into his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck for a moment before he hears Steve say, “When did you eat last? You can talk.”

Swallowing hard, Bucky says, “Dinner. Yesterday.”

Steve hisses and tugs at his hair. “Bucky,” he says, disappointment clear in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers. “I just…I couldn’t.”

“Hey, hey.” Steve is in front of him now, still crouched, and he cups Bucky’s cheek in his palm. “It’s ok, Buck. I’m not mad. But I’m gonna need you to eat.”

Whenever he’d tried to eat lately his mouth refused to open, or his tongue became cotton, or he just couldn’t stomach it. But here, now, with Steve, it sounds kind of nice.

Steve must be able to see the apprehension, because he says, “I’ll make it worth your while.” There’s an impish grin on his lips and Bucky can’t help but laugh.

“Ok.”

\--

He’s halfway through making a sandwich for Bucky when it hits him how much he’s missed this. Steve knows he a natural caretaker. It’s one of the reasons he enjoys being a Dom so much. But caring for Bucky is different. Better.

Bucky’s sitting curled up at the table, knees to chest, smiling softly at him. Steve had insisted they pause in the scene until he was more nourished. Bucky hadn’t said anything, but his eyes had softened a little, and Steve almost kissed him right there.

Almost.

They talk a little about work, about Natasha. After the first few bites Bucky sets the sandwich down and forgets to pick it back up, and Steve sternly informs him there will be no fun tonight if he doesn’t take the task of eating seriously. 

Bucky grumbles under his breath, but obeys, and Steve can see the corners of his mouth twitching up.

When he’s done, Bucky sighs and sits back. He’s got a streak of mayo on his thumb and they notice it at the same time. Staring straight at Steve, he sucks his finger into his mouth, licks it clean, then draws it back out slowly, purposely seductive, and it leaves a line of wet across his bottom lip.

Oh god, Steve wants to bite it.

\--

Bucky’s feeling better than he has in days, due to the food and water he’s just consumed obviously, but also due to the gorgeous man sitting in front of him.

Steve’s forearms are resting on the table, bare from when he rolled his sleeves up, and Bucky lets himself reach out and trail one fingertip along the veins there. It’s quiet, but Bucky hears Steve inhale a little more harshly. For a moment, his face is really open, younger looking than Bucky’s seen it, but then it’s gone, replaced by his Dom face, which in this moment has the confusing effect of making Bucky a little sad as well as turning him on.

“Bedroom,” Steve says sternly, and Bucky goes, sauntering as if he’s not bursting at the seams with excitement and lust. He’s grateful that he cleaned before Steve arrived. The bed is made, if sloppily, the clothes are in the closet.

“Knees,” is all Steve says before walking a slow path around the room. He pulls the lube from his bedside table and turns the bedding down.

Bucky watches the whole thing, mouth dry. The white dress shirt is translucent and Bucky can discern twists of muscle underneath. He remembers how those shoulders felt beneath his fingers.

“Bed,” Steve orders, and Bucky stands, noticing that Steve is undoing his tie.

\--

“What?” Steve asks, and Bucky freezes as if caught. He shakes his head a few times as if to say, ‘forget it.’

“Bucky, if you want something, you can ask.”

He’s frowning, but appears to be considering Steve’s words, so they stand in silence for a few moments before Bucky finally says, “Can I take off your tie? Unbutton your shirt? Please?”

Steve smirks. “Alright. Your pants go first though.”

They were gone in 5 seconds flat. He almost threw them in a corner, but after a glare from Steve he instead folds them quickly and tosses them on top of the dresser. Steve nods and smiles his approval.

Stepping close, Bucky loosens the knot and slides it slowly from Steve’s collar before draping it around his own neck. He then starts on the buttons of Steve’s shirt, brushing the backs of his knuckles against bare skin beneath cotton where he can.

Steve watches, wide eyed, for a moment before asking, “Why did you wait so long to call me?”

Bucky stares hard at his hands, ignoring the question and finishing his task.

“Bucky…” Steve growls, and there’s warning in his voice, but then he can see the kid retreating into his own mind and goes about fixing what he can.

“Over the bed. Ass up. Legs spread.” 

Before he can even shrug his shirt off completely, Bucky is already there, arms neatly folded behind him, hands grasping opposite wrists.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” His voice is trembling a little. “Color?”

“Green,” Bucky says, and Steve can hear the smile in his voice. “You gonna spank me, daddy?”

Steve must be slipping. He can’t imagine how, he’s been Domming for years, for dozens of subs, but when Bucky speaks, Steve audibly gasps.

\--

Bucky hears it, the sharp inhale, and he feels powerful, in control, for the first time in days. 

Steve’s hands run up and down his legs a few times, working warmth into the skin there and Bucky sighs into it. For a moment, it’s less sexual and more comforting than anything, and it’s been so long that Bucky’s been touched like this he considers asking Steve to just rub him down instead of spanking him, that is until Steve’s hand cracks down on his ass and he can feel arousal shoot all the way up his spine.

“You like that, baby?” Steve murmurs.

As if the whimper hadn’t given his away, Bucky sighs, “Yes.” 

Another one lands and Bucky feels this one all the way the to the back of his neck. He braces for the next hit and instead feels warm and wet lave over the heated skin. Steve’s mouth. He whimpers. 

Another hit.

“Oh baby boy, you look so pretty for me. That back arched, that ass in the air. So beautiful.”

Bucky arches a little harder, and is rewarded by another blow that makes his toes curl.

Steve works him over for several minutes, until Bucky’s cock is hanging heavy between his legs and he’s slumped, face into the blankets. He’s murmuring nonsense when Steve unceremoniously pulls his cheeks apart and licks neatly over Bucky’s hole. 

It’s all a blur after that.

Steve tongues him open far too patiently for Bucky’s liking, but whenever he cants his hips back for more of Steve’s mouth, Steve pulls back and waits for him to flop forward with a frustrated groan. 

“Please, please, oh fuck Steve, please…” He’s not even sure what he’s speaking aloud and what’s in his head until Steve says, “Please what, baby boy?”

“Please fuck me, please, oh god please-” A lubed up finger slides in, just quickly enough to be a little painful, and the only indicator of Steve’s fervor. “Another. Daddy please-”

Steve runs a pacifying hand over Bucky’s back, up his spine and into his hair. “Don’t want to hurt you too bad, baby.”

“Want it. _Need_ it. Please.”

For once, Steve actually gives him what he asks for, and Bucky sees stars. A second and then a third finger are added in relatively quick succession, and then, just as he’s adjusting, Steve slides in, cock noticeably bigger than his fingers, wonderfully bigger, and Bucky shouts. Hips snap and Bucky finds himself driven into the bed, grateful for the friction on his cock, aching and untouched. 

It’s good. Better than good. Bucky feels anchored, the pain and pleasure racing through his body cleansing him of everything else. Steve knows exactly how to use him. How to touch him. How to make him feel awake and alive again. And Bucky realizes he wants to see him, so badly, watch his face, see if he’s falling apart like Buck is. 

“Can I see you?” he murmurs and Steve slows only a little to say, “What?”

Bucky’s gratified to hear him sounding slightly breathless.

“I need to see you,” he says again.

He finds himself on his back, knees hiked to Steve’s shoulders.

\--

Jesus Christ, this kid.

Steve’s stomach is still flipping from the breathless request to be seen, and he wants to watch Bucky just as badly. He looks incredible, flushed and dewy and fucked out. His hands flutter over Steve’s skin, his face, his hair, as Steve fucks into him, taking the pounding beautifully, arching up and crying out whenever Steve tilts his hips just right. 

His lips are slightly parted, wide and red and perfect and Steve wants to kiss him so fucking badly. 

No. Not part of the fucking deal. If he kisses him, Steve’ll be lost, his completely, and that thought is too fucking scary, to belong to someone else...to lose them. Besides, who’s to say Bucky even wants that?

Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and Steve uses it as an opportunity to wrap under his shoulders and hike him up so that Steve is standing, Bucky in his arms. He turns and stumbles a little, Bucky’s not small, to an empty stretch of wall and Steve shoves him against it before fucking into him again.

Bucky’s trembling, crying out on every thrust, and he’s far into sub space, but he’s still being so good for Steve, touching only where Steve says he can, crying out with every sensation. But then he slips up. He’s pretty far gone, but he bites Steve’s shoulder, hard, without permission, and Steve immediately gives him a gentle but commanding slap to the face.

\--

He knew he wasn’t supposed to bite, but he just wants to see Steve fall apart a little, and he guesses it sort of worked. Steve’s face darkens and the second he slaps him, Bucky feels something break open inside his chest, and suddenly, he’s crying.

Steve stops immediately. “Bucky. Color.”

“Green,” he gasps. 

“Are you sure?” Steve is watching his face carefully, scrutinizing, and Bucky doesn’t blame him. But he’s fine. Better than fine. The blow loosened up all that ache and let it go and Bucky’s crying but he wants to come so, so badly.

“Please, Steve. It’s good, I’m ok.. Need to come. Please.”

Steve nods, in control, and Bucky nearly misses the wildness in his eyes as he turns them and slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor with Bucky in his lap. “I got you baby. I got you.”

He tilts his hips encouragingly and Bucky takes the hint, starting again on his knees, the movements small only for a moment before he can’t hold back and he’s fucking himself on Steve’s cock, little sobs of pleasure and abandon escaping him. He can feel himself trembling, but from far away and outside of his body.

When Bucky comes, harder than he’s ever come in his life, he buries his face in Steve’s neck and let’s everything else fall away.

\--

Steve wakes to an empty bed and the smell of coffee.

Shit.

He really hadn’t meant to stay the night. 

Shit. He stumbles into his pants and grabs the rest of his stuff, trying desperately to figure out a way of gently excusing himself without setting Bucky off in any sort of damaging way, but when he passes the kitchen doorway, arms full, that plan goes right out the window, and he drops his crap in the hall.

Bucky is standing at the stove in low slung pajama pants and nothing else. Lines of muscle and color stand out on his skin as he stretches, and his hair looks incredible, sexy and tousled, though Steve is sure that’s just how he rolled out of bed. He flips the bacon and sure enough, runs a hand through his hair sleepily a few times before taking a pull of his coffee and turning around.

“Oh, hey,” he says, and Steve is super aware of how red his face is getting as he grumbles out, “Good morning.”

“Breakfast’ll be done in a few.”

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks. They’d fallen asleep pretty directly after last night’s activities, so there hadn’t been much in the way of aftercare, but Bucky just shrugs and when he speaks Steve can hear the smile in his voice.

“Really good actually. Lighter.”

“Good,” Steve counters wholeheartedly, and Bucky turns around and throws a devastating grin over his tattooed shoulder. 

“Get some plates out, ya sap. The cupboard over the sink.”

Steve obeys, and as he moves he hears his phone go off. It’s Sam’s ringtone, so he quickly sets the dishes on the table and tugs his cell from his pants and flops down at the table, pleasantly sore. 

“Hey,” he greets.

“Steve! How are you?”

“Real good, Sam. What’s goin’ on?”

“So...I have a proposition.”

“Oh Jesus,” Steve groans. At this, Bucky turns around carrying a plate of french toast and arches a wicked eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Remember that kid you worked with? James?”

“Oh sure,” Steve says, trying to ignore the jolt of nerves and irony that just coursed through him. 

“Well, you guys were a big hit, as you can imagine, and I was wondering if you might want to work with him again. Saturday after next.”

Instead of responding, Steve puts the phone on speaker and said, “Say that again.”

“Do you want to do another show with James Barnes?”

Steve gives Bucky a “how about it look” and the slow smile that creeps across Bucky’s face says it all.

“Alright. If he’s in, I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in getting this out, school just started and I'm kinda overwhelmed, but I'm going to try to get the rest out sooner. Love!


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky blinks up at Steve coyly. He knows the smudged eyeliner and mascara emphasize the effect he’s going for, and Steve reaches down ever so gently to press his thumb into Bucky’s mouth and down, heavy on his tongue. Bucky can’t help himself, he twirls his tongue around it, drawing it just a little deeper into his mouth and he hears the tiny whimper Steve bites out, though no one else does. 

“Strip,” he orders.

Bucky’s wearing what he showed up in, a white v-neck and black jeans, and he knows he looks doe-eyed and coltish, that Steve wants to eat him alive, but that they’ll both behave themselves on stage tonight because now there’s something between them that isn’t for the audience.

“So beautiful,” Steve whispers, for Bucky’s ears only, and he can’t help but grin. Steve looks so sincere, he can’t help it.

They’ve seen each other a few times since Bucky called Steve those nights ago. Natasha usually excuses herself, though sometimes she just holes up in her room when Steve comes over, and sometimes they’ll eat, sometimes they’ll sit and chat for a while, but Steve always fucks him like they were made for that, and Bucky knows he’s addicted. 

The most recent was two nights ago, and he’d come over earlier than usual, so when Steve had finished tying Bucky up and making him come harder than he ever had in his life, they ate dinner on the couch and watched whatever weird shit was on public access at nine pm. Nat joined them (Bucky suspects her interest in spending time with them was one part macaroni ‘n’ cheese and one part wanting to psychoanalyze the two of them in the same room), sprawling across the armchair so Steve and Bucky had to share the couch. 

Cuddling had been part of their aftercare as play had gotten particularly rough, and Steve had drifted off to sleep on the couch, Bucky in his arms. Bucky got the sense that holding each other had been as much for Steve as for him. There was a moment when Steve had blinked down at him sleepily and smiled far more sweetly that someone of his stature and build should be able to. Bucky swears that Steve had glanced down at his lips, then bit his own, and even though he made no move to kiss him, never kisses him, Bucky had felt happiness so extreme it was almost a sob. As Steve fell asleep, Nat looked over and mouthed to Bucky, “You are so fucked.” He’d made a face and shrugged as if to say, “What do you mean?”, but in the back of his mind he had a sneaking suspicion that she was right. 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, back on stage once more, and starts by unlacing and toeing off his boots, then tugging his shirt off slowly. The material is thin, almost see through, and before it can fall from his fingers, Steve takes it from him and winds it into a makeshift gag. As Bucky works the button on his jeans, Steve ties the garment into his mouth and behind his head, and Bucky’s disappointed he won’t get to suck Steve’s cock tonight, but excited for whatever Steve has planned for them.

The denim drops away, and then his underwear, and he kneels again before Steve, the cushion soft beneath his knees. Steve stands and retrieves something from one of the shelves behind them, and as he returns, Bucky chances a glance and sees that it’s rope. His hands twitch, resisting the urge to offer his wrists up to Steve because he hasn’t been given permission.

“Up,” Steve says, and Bucky unfolds himself to his feet, surprised at the grace with which he manages it, then gasps as Steve sweeps rough palms down his back, and squeezes at the curve of his waist, holding him for a moment. It’s a weirdly intimate gesture, and Steve lets him go relatively quickly, but Bucky still feels the heat of his palms on his skin minutes later.

“Back to the latticework.”

There’s a lattice fence of smooth black metal at the back of the stage. Some things are hung along it, a cane, a crop, a few more lengths of rope, but Bucky finds plenty of space in the center, understanding dawning.

Steve ties Bucky’s wrists away from his body and to the lattice, then his feet, a little further than shoulder width apart, then a beautiful pattern crisscrossing his abdomen, holding him tightly to the metal like an embrace. When he’s finished with the rope, Steve steps back and surveys the scene in front of him with a small smile. He stands to the side, so the audience can see, but doesn’t move much further away. It’s possessive and Bucky loves it, but he tries not to read into it.

And then Steve abruptly walks off stage.

Bucky breathes deeply, trying to trust Steve, talking himself out of using the buzzer clasped firmly in his hand, and he’s rewarded as Steve hops back up hardly a moment later with a plastic cup of ice in his hand, and he pulls his own shirt off, exposing exquisite lines of muscle and bone. The crowd cheers. Bucky grins.

“What’re you grinnin’ about?” Steve murmurs to him wryly, and Bucky winks cheekily.

Steve blushes. 

What the fuck?

Bucky wants to give him shit about the fact that he’s a recreational sex worker who just blushed at a _wink_ , but his since his mouth is full of his own shirt all gets is an incredulous eyebrow raise.

The crowd and Bucky both wait with baited breath, and then Steve crosses to the lattice and takes down the crop. In one smooth movement he brings it down across Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky has to clench his teeth into the fabric to keep from making noise. 

Steve circling him, crop in hand, like a predator with a smile almost too sweet to be believed, turns out to be a kink Bucky wasn’t aware he had. Another strike, this time to his sternum. Ten more in quick succession but deliberately placed and Bucky’s eyes are starting to water and he feels a hundred feet tall. 

Plus, he’s feeling really good about the fact that he’s so in control. It’s probably due in part to being on stage that he’s not sunk quite as far into subspace, but he feels steady, and though he’s half hard, he thinks optimistically that he’ll be able to play the whole session. Sometimes he’s so overwhelmed he has to beg to come early.

So he’s celebrating, smiling, watching Steve with bright eyes as he hangs the crop back up then swipes the cup from the edge of the stage and tilts a few ice cubes in his mouth. At first Bucky thinks Steve’s just thirsty. Thinks that all the way up until Steve stops just inches from his mouth then changes trajectory and exhales ice-cooled air across Bucky’s neck and ear. 

Bucky whimpers, and it turns into a moan when Steve begins to run open mouthed kisses along his jaw, hot and cold and slick and Bucky is squirming. 

\--

Oh fuck, he’s too amazing, Steve thinks as he takes some ice into his mouth and rolls it around on Bucky’s nipple with his tongue. The kid slams his head back against the grate, giving tiny rolls of his hips unconsciously, but Steve’s mind is already there. There’s a reason he’s got Bucky tied up. 

Thing is, Steve has yet to suck Bucky’s dick. Bucky gets his mouth on Steve almost every time they hang out. It’s not even on Bucky’s soft limits list, but for some reason or another, it just hasn’t happened. Which is a problem.

So Steve continues running his mouth over Bucky’s skin, loving every second of it. It feels incredibly personal, and it occurs to Steve that the two of them usually get to fucking pretty quickly when they see each other, and suddenly Steve wishes they weren’t on a stage. This should’ve happened in private first, where Steve could really hear every hitch in Bucky’s breath, observe every tremble of sinew, taste every drip of sweat. When he glances up, Bucky is staring down at him, eyes huge. Bucky’d been getting a little cocky with his self-control, and Steve is pleased to see that dwindling, though his own control is fading as well.

Bucky’s hard now, and Steve plans on teasing him for awhile. He runs the ice down Buck’s legs, over the welts from the crop and back up, over his chest, nipples, jaw. Steve wants so badly to rip the gag off and crash their mouths together but he can’t, not yet, it’s still…

He surges forward, presses his face into Bucky’s neck and breathes in his scent, familiar now, and too dear for it to be safe, but Bucky leans his cheek into Steve’s and it’s so calming and familiar that Steve can’t stand it, and he sinks to his knees.

\--

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s dead, and somehow, beyond all belief, ended up in heaven instead of hell, because Steve Rogers is on his knees in front of him, eyes dancing with the lights above the stage.

He presses a cool, wet kiss to both hipbones, then slowly works his way across, avoiding the place Bucky would most like his attention. Ah, there’s the hell. Steve Rogers, on his knees, dancing eyes, two inches from his cock and teasing mercilessly. 

Bucky keens and tries to curl up, to protect himself from the onslaught of sensation, but the rope prevents it, so he pants in and out through his nose, trying desperately to get a hold of himself.

\--

Bucky’s losing it, Steve can tell, and to be honest, he is too.

\--

Steve leans in and licks a drop of precum from the head, and Bucky twists his wrists in the rope, praying that the burn will keep him from coming right that very second. In a gesture of either mercy or torture, Steve squeezes at the base of his cock to help him with that. It only barely works.

The ice is melting in the cup, and Steve takes a messy drink of it, leaving his mouth red and wet as he leans in and ever so gently slides his lips up and down one side of Bucky’s cock. It’s slick and cool and the change in temperature draws Bucky’s focus immediately. Down and back up the other side. 

\--

Bucky’s making these little noises into the fabric into his mouth, but they get louder with each passing second, and when Steve rolls his tongue along the underside of the head, the sound Bucky makes has him palming his own cock through his jeans. He looks exquisite like this, so fucking beautiful with his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess and for a moment, Steve pulls back and stares and him, running his hands along the lean strength of Bucky’s legs. 

The stare doesn’t go unnoticed, and Steve watches Bucky’s face change, vulnerable and gentle, like he’s trying to comfort Steve while being scared himself. It’s more that Steve usually gets from him, and he’s a little jealous that it’s happening in front of all these people.

Buck glances up at the audience and gives a wicked grin, and the jealousy blossoms in Steve’s chest, and he leans in and swallows him down.

A shout tears it’s way from Bucky’s mouth and his knees buckle, but he’s held in place by rope and just sags against the grate. He’s velvet and heavy on Steve’s tongue, and Steve is kicking himself for not having done this sooner.

\--

Oh god. He’s going to come. Without a doubt he’s going to come, and he hasn’t received permission, and if he gets punished today he’ll be _way_ too sensitive to handle it. They’d been teasing each other in the dressing room for at least a half an hour before they’d taken the stage, so Bucky had been worked up to begin with, and the cheering audience is drowned out by blood pumping swiftly away from his brain as Steve becomes the focus of every synapse Bucky possesses. 

The blond is pressing a shaky hand against the crotch of his jeans in some sort of rhythm, but Bucky can’t pay much attention to that because he’s an instant away from hyperventilating. Steve looks so fucking beautiful there on his knees, and even though Bucky is not a switch, he appreciates suddenly the attraction to a man on his knees, begging for it.

And oh is Steve begging for it. Not with his words, but the desperate way he’s going at it, free hand and soft mouth, warmed up long ago from friction and body heat working quickly, just a little rough against his skin, which is tingling now as his orgasm washes up on him. He knows he’s trembling, knows he’s probably making ridiculous noises, but hey, it’s the first time they’ve done this, and Bucky hasn’t gotten off in a day or two, and it’s getting much harder to stay in control.

He bites out a semblance of Steve’s name around the fabric and looks desperately at him, shaking his head. Steve’s face is flushed and his neck and chest are tense, but he’s not choking, just getting more and more strung out. He notices Bucky’s gesture and pulls off long enough to say, “Come for me,” then goes right back to it, and Bucky comes so hard he has to slam his eyes shut for at least a minute. 

When he comes to, Steve is gently undoing the knots around his ankles, and when he stands in front of Bucky to free his upper body, Bucky notices he’s still breathing heavily, though it seems to be slowing down. He almost asks if Steve’s ok, but when the last of the binding falls away, he slumps and Steve catches him. 

“Shit, sorry,” Bucky says, pulling the fabric from his mouth.

“Don’t apologize,” Steve murmurs, winded, and helps him off stage and back to the dressing room. Steve’s walking a little funny, but Bucky just assumes it’s because he hasn’t gotten to come yet, and Bucky hopes he’ll be allowed to get him off. 

Slumped on the dressing room couch, Bucky watches as Steve packs up his crap. He’s avoiding Bucky’s eyes.

“Do you want me to get you off?” Bucky offers, but Steve just shakes his head, and again with the blush. What the fuck? Defensiveness is growing rapidly in Bucky’s chest, but as Steve leaves the room he bends down and places a kiss on top of Bucky’s head, breathing in for a moment. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then he’s gone.

\--

He just came in his pants like a teenager at the mere _sight_ of the man getting off, and Steve is freaking the fuck out.

 

\-----

“Hey,” Bucky says as he opens the door, then “Whoa,” immediately after. “You ok?”

Steve scans him up and down, not doing a particularly good job at subtlety, but instead of excitement at his attention, Bucky’s just worried. He knows he looks good today, hair combed back, and a blue button up. He’d wanted to look good for Steve. But Steve looks…

Well gorgeous, obviously, but tired and upset, which is unusual. He usually plays things so close to the chest. He bobs his head in assent and steps into the apartment with this smile that Bucky sees right through as an expert avoider himself, and Bucky shakes his head. “Nice try, Rogers. Come on.”

Steve looks like he’s about to make some smart-assed comment, but Bucky gives him a sharp look and takes his hand, and something in Steve’s face changes. Holding hands has never been something they do, but it’s all Bucky can think of in this case. He drags Steve down the hall.

In a total reversal of roles, Bucky shoves him down at the dining room table. “Sit.” He doesn’t bother moving the mess he and Nat left, he’s not embarrassed, just goes to the stove and sets the tea kettle to boil, then starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 

Carrots, onions, celery, zucchini, chicken...he chops garlic and tosses it in a pan to saute, and it’s not until there’s a pot of veggies simmering in broth on the stove that he even turns back to the table. Steve’s sketching something on the back of an old envelope, and doesn’t look up.

“You wanna talk about it?” Bucky asks as he pushes his sleeves further up his forearms.

“No.”

“Ok. Beer?”

Steve’s jaw falls open and he stares at Bucky.

\--

Just ok? No attempt at a therapy session? No one ever lets him off that easily. Steve knows Bucky can tell he’s upset. Work was shitty, and the anniversary is coming up, which is always a hard time for Steve, though usually he seeks solitude to deal with it. These days, though, he doesn’t want solitude. He wants Bucky. 

“I had a terrible day at work.” The words tumble out of Steve’s mouth and Bucky blinks a few times, but otherwise doesn’t react. “I...haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“You sleep ok here?” Bucky asks, digging a few beers out of the fridge. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies softly. “Yeah, I do.” They share a glance, and Steve can’t decipher the look on Bucky’s face, softness maybe? And fear? “Anyway,” he continues, “I was an asshole to someone who didn’t deserve it and I feel shitty about it.”

“Did you apologize?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Bucky repeats with a gentle snort. “Well. I got you tonight, ok?” An offer of care. To take control. Responsibility. 

\--

Bucky watches Steve’s face. If Steve can let go, let himself be taken care of, Bucky will count it as a huge win. He knows Steve holds on to control desperately, knows it must mean he’s afraid of losing something (again?). 

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, then a little louder, “Ok.”

“Ok,” Bucky says, and he turns over his shoulder to stir the soup, just barely manages to hide his face as the grin creeps across. It’s no big deal. Just a man who never gives up control, giving up control. To him.

\--

They don’t fuck that night. 

They eat soup and watch terrible horror films and Bucky pulls Steve close where they lay on the couch and Steve presses his face into Bucky’s chest and just breathes in the smell of him until he feels right again.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Natasha asks from where she’s curled into Bucky’s hip. 

“About what?” he murmurs absently, continuing to read. 

“Steve. About you being in love with him.”

Bucky freezes, and instead of searching for words to counter her argument, he just sighs.

“No. We’re not.”

\--

“Pizza.”

“Chinese.”

“Pizza.”

“Chinese.”

“Look you motherfucker, I will fight you. I want a goddamn pizza.”

Steve laughs deeply. “Ok, ok fine. Tino’s?” 

Bucky’s already using one hand to dial and one hand to pull his boots on. It probably says something about his pizza addiction that he has Tino’s on speed dial, but he finds himself unbothered. Order placed and boots tied, he straightens to see Steve zipping up his coat and smiling fondly at him. 

“You’re a sap,” Bucky says as he walks away to find his own coat.

“You wanna go see a movie with me next weekend?”

Bucky pokes his head back into the room. He almost asks if it’s a date, but Steve still hasn’t kissed him, and he chickens out. “Ok. Yeah. I’d like that.” He’s a little embarrassed by how soft his voice gets, but Steve just smiles at him, all beautiful and sweet, and Bucky ducks back out again. “Just no chick flicks ok?”

“Would I do that?”

“You’re an asshole that enjoys fucking with me, and also a goddamn marshmallow. You answer that question for yourself.”

“A marshmallow? I am not!”

Bucky tugs the front door closed behind them and locks it. Steve is wearing a leather bomber over his business clothes and it’s sexy and domestic at the same time, the way he rushed right over after work, barely a minute between Bucky’s text “dinner?” and his own “Duh”, without even changing clothes.

“Whatever you say, big guy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly.”

“Goddamn it, Buck.”

They’re both laughing though, and Steve winds his fingers through Bucky’s. He looks away as he does it, pretending to observe a store front with suspicious intensity, but Bucky squeezes his hand tightly to let him know it’s not unwelcome. Besides, with Steve’s eyes otherwise occupied, he doesn’t have to temper brightness of his smile, too enthusiastic, he knows. 

A block from the pizza place there’s an old guy begging for change. He’s always there, Bucky occasionally drops him a dollar or a granola bar, but tonight he’s only got his debit card on him, no cash, so he smiles regretfully and is about to walk past when Steve pulls him to a stop and digs around in his jacket pocket.

“Spare some change?” the guy rasps, and Steve gives that smile that can melt even the frostiest of hearts and drops what Bucky realizes is a fifty into the cup.

“Have a good night, sir.”

“Holy shit, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, and they’re a few paces away when the man says, “Wait!”

They turn back. “You gave me a fifty mister.” 

“I know,” Steve says, and the guy immediately starts crying. It makes Bucky profoundly uncomfortable, but Steve lets go his hand to clap the guy on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s ok.”

“You don’t understand,” the guy says. “It’s my first winter home...I just got back from Iraq last April...I can’t hold a fucking job...it’s my baby girl’s birthday next week...if her momma’ll let me see her I’m gonna get her the best damn gift...I...thank you so much.”

Steve is chewing his lip and Bucky realizes he’s a breath away from crying too. He digs around in his coat again, pulls out a pen and a receipt, scribbles a phone number on it. “Here,” he says. “My friend Clint works at the VA. Tell him Steve sent you. He’ll be able to help.”

“Shit, man,” the guy says. “Thanks so much.” 

Steven Fucking Rogers. A goddamn superhero in business attire. They’re waiting in the dingy yellow of Tino’s dining room and Bucky’s still so overwhelmed by Steve’s kindness that he forgets to talk, so when Steve asks the question, he forgets to lie. 

“What happened to your arm?”

“Car accident.”

\--

“Car accident,” he says absently, and Steve’s worried the flinch he gives is visible. Car accident. Just like… “My boyfriend was driving. He was drunk. Fucker. I knew he was no good.” Bucky sounds so fucking rueful. “But I was damaged goods before that shit, so I suppose it’s all the same.”

They both jump when Steve slams his hand on the table. “You are not damaged goods,” he grinds out. 

“Foster kid, ex prescription pain med junkie, freelance writer, college drop out…” As he speaks his shoulders slump, like he’d forgotten and is just remembering. 

“Brilliant.” Steve says, and Bucky glances up from the chip he’s picking from the edge of the table. “Kind. Beautiful. Great cook. Incredible caretaker. Hard worker. Stupidly brave.”

“Steve-” 

“Honest. Fantastic taste in movies. Music. Men,” he adds with a smile, and Bucky allows a scoff to escape. 

“Suck up.”

“Just the truth, baby.”

“Baby?”

The smile Steve gives is shy, but genuine.

“Barnes?” the guy at the counter calls, and the moment snaps into pieces, to both of their chagrin.

\--

“Ok,” Bucky says the moment they’re through the door, planting his hands firmly on his hips. “What the fuck is your deal?” Steve had snapped at not one, but two patrons who dared voice appreciation for Bucky and their work together, not too badly, but he had still been sarcastic and less than pleasant. “Me being pretty and naked is kind of the job, Steve. You can’t just yell at anyone who observes that.”

“But you’re...more than that.” Steve spits the words out like ripping off a bandage as he paces into the living room and peels off his leather jacket. “And you’re not...not property...not theirs-”

“Steve Rogers,” Bucky interrupts. “Are you...jealous?" 

“No!” The immediacy with which he answers tells them both otherwise. 

Bucky grins and leaves the room to grab a beer. Steve’s jealous. He said Bucky wasn’t anyone’s property. Did that mean he couldn’t even be Steve’s? Because he’d kind of like to be. 

Steve paces into the room, twitchy and tired and restless, like he’s been these past few days. Bucky’s a little worried honestly, and if Steve chooses not to share that part of his life that’s his own business, but Bucky can’t stand to sit around for another night as Steve frets while trying to pretend like he’s not. As he hands over a beer, Bucky says, “Let’s go dancing.” 

“Huh?” 

“Dancing, dumbass. Let’s go out. Let you assert your public dominance,” he teases, and Steve growls and yanks him in for a kiss that never comes. 

“Watch that lip, kid.” 

“Is that a yes?" 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Steve eyes Bucky’s body beneath the casual clothes with hunger in his expression but Bucky laughs and pushes him away. 

“Not a chance.” 

\-- 

They’re walking into the club and Steve still can’t believe his eyes. Buck is so fucking gorgeous Steve thinks he might pass out. His black pants might as well be painted on, and he’s wearing a white, almost sheer tank top beneath a black suit jacket. There’s still soft makeup smudged around his eyes from the show (at which Steve had behaved totally inappropriately, but they’re both ignoring that for now), so he’s all long legs and blue eyes and Steve’s only freaking out a little. 

For a moment, as they wind their way through the crowd and dozens of pairs of eyes flick over them as they pass, Steve wonders if maybe this will just be another place for people to ogle what’s not theirs (‘not yours either Rogers’, he reminds himself), but then Bucky reels him in close, slots a leg between his own, and wraps slender wrists around Steve’s neck, and with the first roll of his hips, Steve is totally distracted. 

Bucky smells incredible, pine and soap, and Steve presses his nose into Bucky’s hair and breathes deeply, then realizes himself and straightens back up. Dance, Rogers. You can’t just lose yourself in him, you can’t have him, so just dance. 

The thought kickstarts the awful circular mantra of things he’s lost, things he has no right to keep, and he thinks he’s hiding it well enough, but Bucky gives him a squeeze, so maybe he’s not doing as well as he thought. The music changes, bringing him back into the present. 

“Whatever it is,” Bucky murmurs in his ear, “You know you can talk to me about it right?” It feels like a sucker punch. He clenches his jaw and nods tightly, but Bucky continues. “Relax Rambo. You don’t have to. Just…you can.” Steve wants to fall, to break down and weep, but he doesn’t, just presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead and moves his hips. 

"Oh my god," Bucky whispers, laughter tightening his voice. 

"Huh?" 

"Your 3 o'clock. Look." 

There's a guy in nothing but pink booty shorts doing what looks to be a very sincere and genuine impression of the Elaine dance from Seinfeld, and Steve dissolves into giggles. "What," Bucky murmurs. "You think you can do better?" 

"That's not..." Steve starts, but Bucky pulls away and starts in on some very impressive and embarrassing choreography. "What the fuck are you doing." 

"Come on Stevie!" he yells. "Dance!" 

"Are you doing the Macarena?" He folds his arms across his chest. 

"Rogers! Don't be a pussy!" 

"I'm not!" He protests. 

"You're just boring? What a shame." Bucky's got a shit eating grin on his face and Steve rolls his eyes. 

"You fucker. Fine." He's got some weird 80's shit up his sleeve, and it only takes a few minutes bring some classic moves out of retirement. 

People are staring, and they're both laughing so hard they have to take a break and it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to get his shit back together. When they finally stagger off the dance floor for drinks, Bucky strips out of his suit jacket and they flop down at the bar. 

The bartender gives them free drinks with a word of thanks "for the incredible show." 

“You’re a pretty good dancer for some stuffy business man.” 

“Stuffy huh?” Steve replies with a grin. Bucky shrugs. His collar bones shine with sweat. Steve wants to lick it off. 

\-- 

Steve’s finally out of his head about whatever’s been bothering him, and he looks beautiful, red-cheeked and laughing. He’s eyeing Bucky like something he’d like to eat, and Bucky can’t bring himself to mind. 

He drains a beer and glances back up at Steve, who’s still staring. “What?” 

“Just...you’re somethin’ else, Buck.” 

He chuckles. “You’re drunk.” 

Steve looks offended. “No, I’m not. You are.” 

“Alright,” Bucky indulges. “Thanks.” 

“I mean it. I thought...I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone that’d make me laugh again.” 

“Again?” 

Steve freezes and the color drains from his cheeks. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cemetery mentioned is a historical landmark and not a functional cemetery but it feels weird writing about a place where current people’s current family/friends might actually be buried so...there ya go.

“Sam? Sam! Thank god you picked up.”

“You called me twelve times in the past hour. I just pretended I had to take a shit halfway through a business meeting so I could take your damn call. What the fuck is going on?”

“Steve and I were out dancing last night and -”

“Dancing?” 

“Yeah, and -”

“Steve Rogers dances?”

“Like a madman, stop interrupting. He said something about thinking he’d never meet someone who’d make him laugh again and then he freaked out and fucking disappeared. I tried to give him some space last night but he’s not answering my calls, he’s not at his apartment, I’m...worried.”

“Oh James,” Sam says softly. “It’s probably - what’s the date?”

“December 20th, why?”

“500 25th Street.”

Bucky listens to the silence after Sam’s statement, expecting a follow up. 

He’s a wreck. Didn’t sleep a wink the whole night, but Steve’s a grown man, and not his boyfriend, owes him nothing. He’s just so worried. Steve plays Dom so well, but Bucky’s seen the wildness in his eyes, knows the feeling, the darkness that creeps in and threatens to trap you. Knows he and Steve aren’t so different. Which means that they’re equally capable of recklessness, and Bucky wants so much better for Steve than what he gives to himself. 

“What’s that?” he finally asks.

Sam sighs heavily. “Green-Wood Cemetery. And James?”

“What?” Bucky whispers.

“Go easy on him.”

What is there to say but “Ok”?

He walks there. It’s cold as fuck, but he needs the time and the movement to keep him from drowning, and as he walks, he tries to sort his feelings. 

So he’s in love with Steve Rogers. Wants him in every way it’s possible to want someone. Steve lost someone. Family? Friend? Boyfriend? Whoever it is, Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. 

He won’t kiss Bucky. It’s fear, Bucky’s sure of it, sure he’s seen the fondness and affection in Steve’s face. Even if Steve doesn’t love him back, at least he likes him a whole lot. The guy asked him out for christ sake. But if Steve’s fear is stronger than his fondness, there’s no future for them. 

Could he make himself leave? If it was the best thing? Give Steve the space to grieve and grow at Bucky’s own expense? He doesn’t want to have to find out.

The cemetery is fucking huge, like a goddamn forest preserve, scattered with mausoleums and headstones. It takes Bucky twenty minutes of wandering, but he gets there eventually, finds Steve in last night’s clothes hunched against the wind. 

He still approaches slowly, trying to make enough noise that Steve isn’t startled, and with the snow thick on the ground, it isn’t too hard to do. The headstone is clean and there’s a bouquet of fresh white roses wilting in the cold at it’s base. Cared for. 

_Peggy Rogers. Loving daughter and wife._

Wife. Today’s the anniversary of her death. He didn’t see that one coming, but the urge to turn tail and run is crushed when Steve turns to look at him.

There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers and he looks wrecked: red eyes ringed with dark circles. Bucky’s never seen him cry before. It makes him feel like someone is reaching into his chest and twisting the meat there into pulp. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, and reaches for him. 

“Don’t.” His voice is terrible. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I was worried.”

“I’m fine.”

His tone is a cover, a façade, reminiscent of his Dom voice but brittle and hostile. Bucky hates it. Hates even more that Steve’s using on him so he turns and faces the grave, looking over it into the field of headstones cloaked in white. 

A few have trails of footprints leading up to them. Bucky never had many people to lose, and it looks like he’s about to lose the one he did have.

\--

How is he supposed to explain this? What can he say? He’s not as drunk as he’d been earlier, so he takes a swig and sighs. Bucky’s never going to want him after this, but he doesn’t deserve cruelty. He’d been worried, and Steve had ignored his calls. Stood him up. A dick move. 

The wind wails through the stones and they both shiver. He’s sure Bucky’s done with him. As well he should be. He doesn’t feel guilty because of Peggy. In fact, if she were around she’d probably have cussed him out for being such a bitch. He’s just so fucking afraid to love and lose again that he won’t even kiss the damn kid, much less admit his feelings, though he’s wanted to for weeks.

“We got married young. She died in a car accident while I was serving overseas. I couldn’t...her parents wouldn’t wait. Her dad didn’t approve of me. Didn’t get home in time for the funeral. I wasn’t even-” His voice breaks in a sob but he bites it back. “She deserved better.” 

He’s not sure how resounding the unspoken, “ _You_ deserve better” is, but he feels it in his bones, right beneath the seeping cold.

He risks a sidelong glance. The collar of Bucky’s grey pea coat is turned up against the wind, but his cheeks are wind-burned red. His eyes are wide but look a little sunken, and Steve wonders if he had a sleepless night too. It sends a twinge of guilt through his gut, cutting through the whiskey.

When Bucky speaks, he sounds different than Steve’s ever heard, completely unguarded, Brooklyn accent heavy on the corners of his lips. It’s soft, too, like he’s afraid, but he says it anyway, because his boy is brave beyond reckoning. 

“Ain’t nobody better than you.”

He gives a sad smile, so beautiful, and Steve hears the gasp escape his own lips, but nothing else follows. What a fool he’s been. Bucky loves him too. He opens his mouth to try to explain, shitty timing and depressing setting be damned. 

“Buck-”, but Bucky just reaches forward and pats him on the chest. “You don’t have to do that for me, Stevie.” He gestures to the grave. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll - uh...I’ll see you around.” His voice only quivers on the last word, and even then only minutely, and he turns on the heel of his perfectly worn boots and trudges off through the swirling snow. 

\-- 

“Sweetie-” Nat says, but Bucky interrupts her with what he’s sure is his tenth “I’m fine” in the past hour. She almost never uses pet names, not unless someone’s an inch from death or a mental breakdown, and Bucky Barnes is neither. He is fine.

Well, not fine, but he's not dead, and that’s a start. He’s numb and it’s just starting to wear off, all of 48 hours later, and he’s a little nervous of what will happen when it does, but for now, it’s fine. 

He’s spent no less than four hours in the gym in the past two days, and then went immediately to sleep, so he can understand why Nat’s nervous, but he’s not drinking himself into oblivion or fucking strangers. He’s almost proud of his coping mechanisms until he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are sunken and his cheekbones are more prominent. He touches them, thinking ruefully about how quickly his body reacts to caloric deficit and promises he’ll eat soon. Not Tino’s, it’ll just make him sad, but maybe some Easy Mac or something. 

In the end, Nat makes him soup, and he eats it with increasing fervor, trying and failing to avoid interrogation. He tells her what happened at the bar and in the cemetery and she listens, nods, stays strangely silent. “What, no psychoanalysis?” Bucky mumbles through a mouthful of crackers. Now that he’s gotten started eating it’s hard to stop. 

“No.” She shakes her head and brushes red curls from her eyes. “You’re an adult, and so is he. You spoke your truth. It’s all you can do. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nat,” he says shyly and she punches his arm. 

“Thank me by taking a fucking shower, ok?” 

“Fine, fine,” he gripes, laughing. 

He squeezes the shit out of her before she leaves for work, filled with affection and gratitude for her friendship. They’ve been through some shit, and she’s developed an effective balance between mothering and distracting him, but he knows at the core of it she just loves the crap out of him. They’ve always been better at nonverbal communication and he tells her he loves her too by pressing a kiss to her forehead. She responds by patting his cheek with uncharacteristic sweetness, message received. 

“Stay safe, James,” she says, and then he has the house to himself. He does shower, because it’s goddamn time, then starts a load of laundry. Then does the dishes. Then tidies the living room. He’s starting to thaw, and the pain of a Steve-less reality is starting to make him panic a little. It’s not quite sub-drop, but it’s similarly flavored, mania and haze. The cleaning helps him feel in control of something, and he knows it’s better than some of the alternatives, so he loses himself in it. 

Loses himself so completely that he doesn’t even hear the knock on the door the first time. Almost misses it the second, but finally snaps back to reality and yells, “Coming,” as he hurries to the door. He’s wearing boxers and a band tee and his hair is a mess but it’s probably Mrs. Simmons the next door neighbor with misdelivered mail, so he doesn’t worry. 

He yanks the door open.

It’s Steve, looking beautiful in jeans, a leather jacket and scarf, and bright eyed, so different from the last time they’d spoken, and Bucky can’t bring himself to do anything but stare.

“Hi,” Steve finally says.

Bucky’s “Hi” jumps unbidden from his mouth before he says, “What are you doing here?”

Steve opens his mouth to speak but then twists it to the side, thinking better of it. Bucky’s about to close the door, can’t handle even one additional heartbreak, but then Steve reaches forward and cups his jaw with a rough hand, leans in, and kisses him.

\--

He’s a goddamn idiot. He should’ve been kissing Bucky Barnes every second of every day from the moment they met. Stepping closer, he wraps his arm around Buck’s back and the kid just melts into his arms like he was always supposed to be there.

Steve knows intellectually that they’ve been involved way more intimate than this many times before, but this, kissing Bucky, feels like having his chest ripped open. In the most wonderful way.

“Wait,” Bucky gasps, breaking the kiss but not pushing away. “What?”

“I love you,” Steve says simply, because Bucky had been brave so he could be too. “Losing Peggy broke my heart. Made me so fucking scared. Made me a coward.”

“Steve,” Bucky says brokenly, disagreeing, but Steve shakes his head. 

“No, I was. I couldn’t...I thought if I kissed you I wouldn’t be able to keep my distance but...I’m an idiot Buck. I haven’t kept my distance since the moment I met you. Don’t want to.”

Bucky starts laughing. It’s not unkind, but it’s still a little unnerving after having poured his heart out. “What?”

Shaking his head, Bucky says, “I thought you were done with me, and all this time you’ve just been so fucking lovestruck you couldn’t just be a normal fucking boyfriend? Goddamn, Steve Rogers, it’s lucky you’re good lookin’.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.” He’s grinning, but still nervous and Bucky sees right through him, just like he always does. 

“I love you, too, you fucking lunatic. So, so much.” 

“Oh. Good,” Steve breathes, relieved. 

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms with a kiss and the most breathtaking of smiles. “Good.”

\--

“Please, Daddy, please, please touch me.” Bucky's kneeling on the bed, arching his back as hard as he can fucking manage and trying to puppy-dog eye his way into getting what he wants. It's not working.

“Open yourself up baby boy.”

“Want you to do it.”

The cane cracks across his thigh. “I gave you an instruction. Are you disobeying?”

Bucky smiles wickedly. “Would I do that?”

Steve breaks for a moment to roll his eyes and fondly caress Bucky’s cheek, then sucks in a mouthful of air as Bucky reaches around and starts working himself open with freshly lubed fingers. He sighs through the burn but tries not to rush it, mostly because of the way Steve is looking at him right now, like he’s the center of universe. 

“Good boy,” Steve breathes, and leans down to kiss him, slow and sweet and sloppy. Bucky whimpers into his mouth, the slide of his Dom’s tongue intensifying the sensation of his own fingers. He knows that shit drives Steve crazy, and though he’s not doing it on purpose he’s thrilled when Steve wraps long fingers gently around his throat. “Keep going.”

Bucky adds another finger and whines. Steve kisses him again and again, making sure as long as Bucky’s hand is doing it’s job, their mouths are pressed together. When Bucky shifts and withdraws his fingers Steve stops and Bucky pouts. “Well get back to it then,” Steve says, all cocky and smartassed, and Bucky scowls but obeys quickly. 

At three fingers Steve leans back and says, “Got a present for you.”

Bucky can’t hide his excitement, knows Steve doesn’t want him to. “What is it?”

“Pants first,” Steve teases and stands back up, gesturing to his slacks. After wiping his hand on a towel Bucky moves to unbutton them, but first he drags his palms from Steve’s ass, down the back of his legs, then the backs of his hands up the front, dipping in right before the crotch and brushing his fingers ghostly light over Steve’s dick where it’s pressing into the fabric there. He hisses but before he can start scolding, Bucky tugs the zipper down and pulls both slacks and boxers to the ground. 

Steve’s cock springs free and Bucky blinks up coyly. “Please?” 

“Nope,” Steve says looking way too pleased with himself. He holds out a hand and pulls Bucky to his feet. “Come on. Present time.”

They make their way to the bathroom, where a plush towel is folded neatly in front of a dildo suction cupped to the floor. It’s big, but not as big as Steve, who says, “You can suck my cock, but only as long as you’re fucking yourself on that.”

Wide eyed, Bucky plucks at it, watches it spring back and unfolds the towel a little to accommodate his leg span. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says with a smile, and holds out a hand for the lube. “But I think I can make an exception for you.” He slicks it up and sinks down, holding Steve’s eyes the whole time. It feels incredible, and he rocks his hip a few times.

\--

Bucky is the embodiment of sex right now, and Steve is having a hard time controlling himself. The boy sighs as he fucks himself on the dildo a few times then reaches out to pull Steve closer. His mouth is hot, wet velvet, and Steve buries a hand in Buck’s hair immediately to control the speed (to keep from coming too quickly). Bucky’s lack of gag reflex has always been mind-blowing, and this instance is no different. He takes Steve all the way in and spends a few seconds swallowing around him and working his tongue over the bottom of his cock. 

“Jesus,” Steve gasps. 

“Not quite,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve tightens his fist warningly, but it has the opposite of the desired effect, and Bucky moans around him. To take back a little control, Bucky uses his hands around the back of Steve’s thighs to push him forward more rapidly, and Steve can’t find it in him to complain. 

As minutes pass Steve can tell that Bucky’s losing it as his rhythm falters, and in a terribly distracting move, begins whimpering with almost every thrust, sending shocks up Steve’s spine. 

“Hoooly shit, Buck, that’s so good. You’re so good. My beautiful boy.” He can tell by the way Bucky starts trembling that the words are having their desired effect. 

\--

Bucky’s not going to last much longer, and Steve is cool as a cucumber. He’s murmuring sweet things that are shoving Bucky closer to orgasm much faster than usual, and it’s pissing Bucky off that his Dom is still so in control. He rakes his nails down Steve’s thighs and receives a shout in return.

“You like that, baby?” Bucky asks coyly as he takes Steve in hand and laps at the head with teasing licks. 

“You are terribly behaved,” Steve replies with no real malice.

“Then punish me.”

Steve grins. “What do you think I should do?” he asks, all faux innocence.

“Fuck my face.” There’s absolutely no pause, and Bucky is delighted to both see and feel Steve’s knees buckle a little. 

“...You…” Steve murmurs awed, and Bucky yanks him forward. 

He falls apart pretty quickly after that, though Bucky isn’t faring any better, and when Steve pulls back to let him breathe he uses the time efficiently.

“Please fuck me, please Steve, I need-” He doesn’t get any further than that. 

Steve yanks him to his feet and catches him around the waist before spinning him around over the countertop and sinks into him.

\--

“Oh fuck,” Bucky moans and Steve knows he’s making some undignified noises of his own, but Bucky’s slick and tight and he can’t stop himself from snapping his hips forward. “Yes! Oh god that’s perfect.”

He’s being rough, he’ll have to check on Bucky after, but right now he’s out of his mind with want and the sight of Bucky writhing beneath him, muscles rolling beneath sweat-shimmering skin, is about to break him apart

“God Buck, you feel so fuckin’ good. So good for me.” Bucky whines, so he continues. “So fuckin’ beautiful. So fuckin’ perfect.”

“Thought you said I was terribly behaved,” Bucky gasps, still a charming smartass even when being fucked within an inch of his life. 

“Wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Oh right there, fuck yes.” He’s pretty much yelling now. Perfect. Steve curls around him and tilts his head to kiss him.

\--

Steve is sufficiently gone now, making little grunting noises with every thrust, and sweeps his tongue through Bucky’s mouth as they kiss, desperate. 

“Fuck, Steve, can I come, please-”

“You gonna come untouched for me baby?” he pants, so close it sounds like he’s in pain.

“Please, Daddy, yes, please, I’ll be good-”

“So good-”

“Fuck, _fuck_ , I gotta-”

“Love you so much Bucky. Come for me.”

He’s pretty sure he screams but Steve almost certainly doesn’t notice as he’s groaning his way through his own release. Bucky’s knees give out, and Steve grabs him, holding him up and panting into his back for a moment before sweeping him up into his arms. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky murmurs into his chest, lulled by the motion of Steve walking back to the bedroom. 

“Why thank you.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead as he lays him down in their bed and hands him a bottle of water. “Drink please.”

“Yes, Daddy,” he mutters, this time sarcastic.

“Hey, you gotta stay hydrated.”

Bucky spits out a stream of water at him. “I’ll hydrate you.” 

Steve blinks, water dripping off his lashes, and for a moment Bucky is grateful they’re not sceneing anymore because if they were he’s pretty sure he’d be getting his ass beat right about now, but then Steve throws his head back and laughs. Laughs so fucking hard Bucky can see the muscles in his sides contracting and he has to brace himself with hands on hips.

“You fucking crazy…” He stops, shaking his head, and leans down over Bucky. “...Remarkable, beautiful, hysterical-”

“Oh my god, stop,” Bucky says, covering his eyes.

“Sexy, sweet, incredible man.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m gonna need a minute, but then, gladly.”

Bucky withdraws his hand to stare up at his boyfriend. He’s beautiful, Bucky thinks. Extraordinary. He can say it now, does a hundred times a day, and does right this very second, simply because he wants to. “I love you, jerk.”

“I love you, punk,” and he brushes the hair out of Bucky’s eyes as he wraps himself around his boyfriend, and lovingly, passionately, sweetly, kisses the everloving fuck out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! What an adventure! Thanks for all the lovely feedback, this was fun as hell to write. I'm at seasless.tumblr.com if you want to swing by.

**Author's Note:**

> “They were kissing. Put like that, and you could be forgiven for presuming that this was a normal kiss, all lips and skin and possibly even a little tongue. You'd miss how he smiled, how his eyes glowed. And then, after the kiss was done, how he stood, like a man who had just discovered the art of standing and had figured out how to do it better than anyone else who would ever come along.”  
> ― Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys


End file.
